"Quarantine! You must stay in cabin." Giuseppe, the ship's surgeon, pulled on a precautionary face mask. After sticking his thermometer in my ear, he stuck a swab stick into my mouth and peered down my throat using a flashlight. Mamma mia.
"Flu?" I ventured. Giuseppe, a lugubrious doctor with the weight of a luxury liner's welfare on his shoulders, shrugged. He spoke little English, and I little Italian. He dispensed the usual anti-flu pills and dismissed me. "Come see me tomorrow."
It was an unusual way to start a Mediterranean cruise. After flying around the world from the Far East to Rome, I arrived feeling off-colour after sitting next to a sick traveller who coughed and sneezed his way through a long-haul flight. Just my luck.
On embarking at the port of Civitavecchia, we had to complete a public health declaration. A travelling hypochondriac, I diligently ticked off all the symptoms on the list. I whispered to my wife, "I hope they let us on board. I've got every symptom of swine flu." That's how we ended up in the infirmary of the Costa Romantica.
I wasn't the only passenger to come aboard with flu. I shared the small infirmary with Giuseppe, Gina and a nurse. Gina, a gorgeous Italian babe who resembled a young Gina Lollobrigida, translated the doctor's instructions. "Take off your shirt," she commanded. "You first," I quipped. "You have the fever," she added. I certainly did.
I was relieved when we set sail that evening in quarantine but safely on board. Gazing out of the porthole, I watched the Roman battlements and towers of Emperor Trajan's old port disappear behind us. We had no choice. Under doctor's orders, we'd have to survive on room service and a view of the Mediterranean from our luxury cabin.
We dined on club sandwiches and salads while the other passengers enjoyed a cocktail party hosted by Captain Mauro Muratore, dinner in the Botticelli restaurant and cabaret in L'Opera Theatre. I had visions of watching Sicily, Rhodes, Mykonos, Patmos and Crete pass by through the giant porthole while we cruised in quarantine.
We awoke to a bright new day in the straits of Messina. Slipping between the boot of Italy and Sicily, we passed the volcanic island of Stromboli and the mountainous coast of Calabria. The Costa Romantica was headed for Catania, an old Sicilian port at the very foot of the volcano of Mount Etna. We were hoping to see the grand piazzas, the baroque cathedral, Roman amphitheatre and homeboy Bellini's statue and tomb.
Things were looking up. Back in the infirmary, I was given the all-clear after testing negative for the dreaded H1/N1 virus. "No more quarantine. You can go ashore. Take all your pills," declared Giuseppe.
Thereafter I only saw him at lunch - and the liner generously waived the good doctor's bills in return for my honest health declaration. But my experience shows that it's always wise to take out travel insurance abroad.
The Benedictine Monastery of Catania was the highlight of our first port of call. Early travellers likened the ornate facade, sculptures, balconies, marble staircase, frescoes, church and cloisters of this immense 18th century complex to the palace of Versailles. Our antiquarian 1899 guide to Catania - somewhat out of date you might think - describes the world-renowned monastery organ which was pillaged and is no more.
"The wonderful machine by itself is sufficient guaranteed to ensure the celebrity of the Benedictine Monastery of Catania. Created by Donato del Piano, it can accurately reproduce every musical instrument - both wind and string. It has 72 organ stops, 5 keyboards and 2 916 pipes (including the bagpipes). There is nothing more solemn, impressive and majestic than its full sounds that a full orchestra could never produce."
After our first walk at liberty onshore we enjoyed fine Italian cuisine and wine back on board. Until I sailed on the Costa Romantica, I never knew pasta came in so many shapes and sizes and with so many speciality sauces from each region.
A word of advice, though. Don't fill up on antipasti, pasta asciutta (the pasta course) and the piatti del giorno (the main course). Phew! Leave space for the sublime Italian cheese and desserts. It's not all pasta - there's lots of gnocchi, polenta, risotto and seafood too.
As an Italian-owned line, the cuisine is authentic and served with flair in a lively atmosphere. At the gala dinner, all of the Italian passengers waved their napkins in the air, joined in and sang a few lines from a popular opera and danced with the stewards.
When we went down to dinner in the main dining room for the first time, the Canadian diners at our table were surprised to see new arrivals. They looked rather worried when I blurted out "we've been in quarantine surviving on room service until now". But they relaxed when I explained it was just flu and not an exotic disease.
We were looking forward to indulging in real Italian pizza at the pizzeria, high tea on the terrace, truffles and chocolate concoctions at the chocolateria and the cocktails at the cigar and cognac bar. We had seven days to enjoy every little luxury - from the casino, ballroom, disco and Italian boutiques to Jacuzzi, gym and spa.
We met several South African passengers on the multi-national ship.
The Costa fleet of 16 state-of-the-art luxury liners offer cruise itineraries around the world - and they don't costa lotta. At around R1 000 per person per day sharing (say R5 000-R10 000 for a seven-day cruise), the Med packages - including all meals, entertainment and port taxes - are a bargain for South African travellers. The family-friendly line also allows two bambinos to share a cabin at no extra cost - with discounted "pronto prices" for advance bookings, and single supplements reduced 80 percent to 30 percent this year.
When we weren't exploring, we chilled out aboard our floating resort at sea. The daily entertainment programme tempts with frenetic salsa lessons (not for me), aerobics (not for me either), bingo with a big payola, darts tournaments, quoits, quizzes, arts and crafts, fashion shows and musicals. Or you can find a spot on deck for a quite read or snooze.
If it's Thursday, this must be Rhodes, one of the 12 sparkling islands of the Dodecanese. We docked in the harbour of the legendary Colossus, a 35m bronze statue which was one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. If we'd passed this way before 224 BC (when the huge figure was destroyed by an earthquake) our good ship would have sailed right between his legs straddling the old harbour entrance. As Shakespeare wrote of Caesar, "He doth bestride the narrow world like a Colossus".
Over two millennia later, we strolled down the gangplank and right into the old medieval quarter. We passed through the Freedom Gate, one of 11 historic stone gateways guarding the ancient citadel of the Knights of St John who made Rhodes headquarters of their fleet for two centuries before being defeated by the Turks after a long siege of the island in 1522. Odos Ippoton, the Street of the Knights, is lined with Gothic inns embellished with the coats of arms and gargoyles of the 7 000 crusaders.
Travelling back in time, we explored the stone labyrinth of alleyways and courtyards swathed in a riot of bright bougainvillaea and lush palms. The palace of the grand master of the knights with its great fortified towers, council chamber, magnificent marble staircase and mosaic floors was once the summer residence of Mussolini. The complex has a permanent exhibition of old Roman amphora, artefacts and ceramics which marks the 2 400th anniversary of Rhodes - an island with a fascinating history.
When the knights fled to Malta, they left behind many exquisite buildings - the Knights Hospital (now archaeological museum) and Cathedral (museum of decorative arts) - as well as the inns of the knights who were divided into eight langues (tongues): England, Aragon, Auvergne, Castile, France, Germany, Italy and Provence. The legacy of the order of "hospitaller" knights of Rhodes lives on today in the St John Ambulance Association, which revived the traditions of the order in Britain in 1877, and in the Venerable Order of the Ophthalmic Hospital of St John of Jerusalem.
Making our way back, we travelled further into the past along narrow cobbled streets named after ancient Greek philosophers like Aristotle, Plato, Pythagoras and Socrates. We lingered with the tourists on Avenue Socrates, the golden mile, a lively bazaar of jewellery, embroidery, carpet, lace, leather and linen, and pottery shops. You can buy a knight's full kit of armour bearing the order's white cross - but I was afraid the ship wouldn't let me back on board dressed as a crusader sailing off to war. They'd put me back in quarantine - and I'd miss seeing Crete.
- For info on Costa Cruises, contact their agent, Development Promotions, on 011 442 0822, e-mail: [email protected] or see www.devprom.co.za